


Of Strings and Heartbeats

by HeartofEternity



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Aged up characters, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, Jazz AU reversal sort of, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartofEternity/pseuds/HeartofEternity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you feel like your life has been meaningless until this point.</p><p>It all began when your so-called best friend told you about a small jazz club tucked away in the business district, not too far from your design studio. She also commented that she and her latest boyfriend, "Loooooooove it!" and that it's,"Gr8 for a relaaaaaaaaxing evening."</p><p>So, you decided to humor her and stopped by after a particularly taxing day of designing outfits and coordinating runway debuts, not knowing that doing so would change your life completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Alternia Jazz Club

**Author's Note:**

> In which I reverse a popular AU that Kanaya is a jazz club singer. 
> 
> Basically Rose performs and uses her violin and yadda yadda while Kanaya sits there mystified and then fluffy happy things happen, but then probably sad things, but happy endings.  
> I can't do the thing with the words...  
> Sorry that the spacing is all messed up, I honestly didn't feel like fixing it xD
> 
> Oh, and in which the author is always a derp.
> 
> Oh, right, all characters are roughly 18-25, give or take.

You walk down the sidewalk, high heels clicking against the pavement in a steady rhythm. You rub your temples in annoyance and try to calm down by deeply breathing the chilling evening air. 

Today has NOT been your best day. 

Soon after you were charged with fitting five more appointments into your already-clustered schedule, seven of your clients dropped out to visit other designers. You realize your stitching has not been up to par recently, and one of your employees, and a good friend, Feferi, had suggested you take a vacation to alleviate some of your stress. Of course, you brushed it off, saying you were just in a slump and you’d get past it, and went about your business as usual, your stitches becoming sloppier and your focus continuously being lost.  
That's when your best friend, at least she thinks she is, told you about a small club named Alternia.  
Apparently her newest flame, this one called John, knew the founder personally, and, without hesitation, had invited Vriska inside. She had said it was gorgeous, even though it lacked the copious amounts of blue she adored. (You've always thought that warmer shades would suit her so much better.)

So here you are, walking down the street as you try to battle yet another headache. You’ve been getting those a lot lately and you wish you knew why so you could better prevent them instead of just popping painkillers once they’ve already started.  
As you become lost in your thoughts, you realize your feet have stopped moving and you look up to see the dimly-glowing sign that reads, ‘Alternia.’  
You suppose this must be the place, and you push open the door, a small bell signalling you entrance with a light dinging. 

The club itself is alive with the hum of hushed conversations, a steady sound that is, in a way, calming to your ears. It’s early in the evening, and the dinner crowd is just beginning to fill up the place. While you don’t recognize most of the faces, your gaze drifts towards the so-called Cobalt Corsair herself, Vriska Serket.  
You inwardly cringe at her outfit, eyeing the horribly-contrasting bright red stilettos that she has paired with a dark blue cocktail gown. She catches your gaze and waves with a grin, motioning for you to come over, and you sigh to yourself, wishing you could blend away with the small crowd by the door. 

“Heeeeeeeey, Fussyface! Glad you could make it!” Her grin seems to stretch from ear to ear, “This is the guy I wanted you to meet. Fussyface, this is John, he’s amaaaaaaaazing! John, this is Miss Meddler herself.” You roll your eyes and extend a hand, 

“As my friend here so eloquently stated, I am Kanaya.” John returns the handshake, grinning goofily, buck teeth jutting out from his mouth,  
“John Egbert, it’s a pleasure.” You remind yourself to ask Vriska why she went after this particular man. He seems different than most, and, oddly enough, you catch Vriska shooting him a genuine smile, something you rarely see from her. 

The three of you chat for a while, Vriska going on and on about her latest job in designing games. She gives you a wink and slips you a card with some exclusive alpha testing code on it, though you know you’ll never use it.  
You’ve never been one for videogames, especially after your experiences with one of her projects, nicknamed SBURB. You barely even remember what it stands for, Super Bionic Underground Robot Battles, or something along those lines. You started with being blown to bits, but you quickly ascended to the top of the ranks and gave up when no one could challenge your strategies. You had then told Vriska to add something challenging into the game, but you never bothered to log onto gunnersArchnemesis again. 

After listening to Vriska’s prattling and making small talk with John, you bid them a temporary farewell and take a seat at the bar, where a rather short, pale man is polishing a glass. You recognize him and greet him with a rather anti-climactic, “Hello, Karkat.”  
He looks toward you and nods back, “Kanaya. Didn’t expect to see you here. The gamerbitch tell you about this place?” You roll your eyes at the nickname,  
“I really wish you wouldn’t call her that.” He grumbles some rather creative curses under his breath and responds with, “You’re not the one she brags about to her family for being her weird fucking albino friend.” 

You raise your hands in surrender and give a quick glance to the menu propped up between bottles of various drinks. You order a simple mojito and give Karkat the money, then glance to the stage as a blonde in sunglasses takes the microphone. Motion catches your eye and you look over to see John waving at him, that goofy grin still plastered to his face. The man on-stage waves back once before returning his attention to the entire crowd. He grips the microphone and announces in a relaxed voice,  
“Ladies and gentlemen, for your entertainment, tonight I have finally convinced her to come out here. The one and only, Miss Rose Lalonde.” 

That’s when you see her.  
She walks onto the stage and immediately your heart begins to race. You feel your chest tighten and your breathing increases. She is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen on this entire earth. 

Soft blonde waves frame her face, sculpting it into a fine blend of angles and curves. Her eyes are a striking shade of lavender as she gazes towards the crowd. Her dress, a long, black ensemble with a sash of pink around the waist, slims her figure and accents her curves. You find your eyes glued to her as she raises the violin to her shoulder and begins to play.

It’s a soft, soothing melody that seems to originate from her very soul. You feel your muscles relax as you are drawn into the music and your eyes flutter closed. The notes waft through your brain like the most alluring of aromas and you draw it all in, trying to preserve it as much as you can.  
When the song takes a darker turn, you open your eyes and watch as she concentrates, her own closed and her painted black lips forming a thin line. 

You sit there, captivated by her performance. When it concludes, she takes a bow and silently exits the stage, the applause nearly drowning Dave’s, you learned his name from Karkat while Rose prepared for a group of new songs earlier, voice as he announced that she was the last act for the night and that they would be closing in an hour.  
You sigh and replay the strings of notes in your mind, idly tipping Karkat as you make your way to the door.

You never even realize that your drink was left untouched.


	2. >Kanaya: Watch from afar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you think you're in love. 
> 
> You've been extremely distracted lately, but you push onward.
> 
> You can't wait to see Rose again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I haven't updated in a while! D:
> 
> School is seriously eating up my free time ;;
> 
> Updates will be sporadic at best
> 
> I'm sorry ;A;

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you’re in love.

Wait, what?

You shake your head and bring your eyes back down to your latest sketch. It’s a relatively simple dress, mostly black, with a pink sash around the middle. You sigh to yourself and flip the page over, resting your pencil against the paper.

Nothing comes.

You frown, trying to picture some sort of outfit in your mind, but the only thing filling your head is your memories of the performance of one Rose Lalonde. You growl to yourself and rub one of your temples. Giving into the pain, you take an aspirin and hope for the best. These migraines have been steadily getting worse, becoming more and more debilitating, but you don’t suspect anything is wrong with you. Slumps like this come and go.

You flip the page back over and muse over the lack of details. The dress itself is elegant in its simplicity, and you set down your pencil after refining the lines around the colours. You pick up your white-out, a very simple, yet effective tool, and draw your trademark signature on the left side of the dress, completing it. 

You frown again because something about the dress is still slightly off, and you can’t place what. Idly, you pick up your pink pencil and colour on top of the white-out. You set down your pencil, admiring your handiwork. Something clicks, and you realize that this dress would look very good on a certain blonde violinist. 

You shake your head again and groan, waiting for the throbbing in your head to subside before you try to face your employees. Even Aradia, your right hand, says you’ve been slowly staying in your office longer and longer. You realize they’re worried for you, but you always brush it off, saying you’ll be fine after a few hours of rest. 

As you wait, you slip your hand into your purse, to reapply your makeup, when it brushes against a piece of paper. You tentatively remove and unfold it, only to be met with possibly the worst handwriting you have ever seen. You can make out most of the message, though. 

\---

miss maryam -

i noticed that you enjoyed my sisters performance  
ive got her scheduled to show off again next friday, as only the most ironic of patrons can even get that woman out of her room  
a tip - shes a total fucking bookworm, work with it  
shes excited to meet you

\- dave 

\---

A small, terrible drawing of what you can only assume to be two cartoon men accompanies his signature, along with the words ‘hels yeh.’ You raise an eyebrow, but tuck the note back in your purse for future reference. 

The medicine seems to finally be working, so you gently pick up your sketch pad and suck in a breath, mentally bracing yourself to face your workers.

As you open the door, Aradia calmly greets you. She’s never particularly charismatic unless a large event is around the corner and, quite frankly, you can’t blame her. However, your other employee, you can see from a mile away, with all of the excitement she seems to exude from every pore. 

Speaking of Feferi, you find her hard at work tailoring a colourful skirt you can only assume is for her own personal usage. You make a point not to disturb her and proceed to discuss your latest design with Aradia.

Afterwards, you mark your calendar with a small sketch of a certain flower, in anticipation of what she could possibly bring next.

>Kanaya: Wait until next Friday

You do so, idly working on various designs, that pink and black dress nagging at the back of your mind. You do your best to ignore it and look forward to Miss Lalonde’s next performance. 

You look up to your calendar and your eyes widen. How could it be Friday already!?

You curse silently and quickly pack up your work. You want to get there early, before all of the better seats have been taken. With her reception last time, there’s no doubt in your mind that the place will be packed. 

>Kanaya: Go to Alternia

You’re working on it!

You’re not about to go see the one person that’s been invading your thoughts these past two weeks looking like this. 

You quickly drive to your apartment, parking your motorcycle and dashing up the stairs. You wash off what makeup you bothered to put on today (you awoke to the searing pain of yet another headache) and carefully apply what you know will accent your features.   
Once that’s over and done with, you head over to your closet and inspect your vast array of mostly homemade clothes. Your motto as a fashion designer has almost always been “Look as good as your models,” and you stick to it more than glue sticks to paper. 

You pick out a personal favourite of yours, one of the few you’ve set aside for special occasions, and this definitely qualifies. It’s a relatively simple red dress with rust-coloured accents. You switch out your trademark signature with a plain black belt and slip on the gloves that accompany this ensemble. 

You’ve always felt rather confident when wearing this dress, like you could brandish some sort of chainsaw and saw vicious sea monsters in half and- woah, woah, woah. Calm down Kanaya, you’re going to a club, not a gladiator pit. 

You take a moment to quell the butterflies that seem to have taken residence in your stomach and double-check everything. Your hair has always refused to be styled no matter what you do, so you simply keep it in a short, tight cut and leave it as-is. You nod to yourself and hail a taxi, not wanting to risk having anything fall out of place with your motorcycle. 

= = >

As you arrive, you realize that the small parking lot is slowly beginning to fill up. You mentally berate yourself for not coming sooner, but put on a smile and pay the cab driver, who grins at you and shyly says, “Uh, thanks.” You nod back to him and grip your purse tighter to prevent yourself from ringing your wrists as you enter the club.

It’s just like before, though much less full. You see Vriska and John again, this time chatting with Karkat, and succeeding in pissing him off. Granted, that’s not exactly hard to do, but he seems to bristle even at their presence. You decide you’d better break it up before someone gets hurt and stride over, greeting the small gathering with a confident, at least you hope so, “Hello.” They turn to see you and Vriska grins, nearly tackling you in a hug, “Fussyface!” You sort of hug her back awkwardly, unused to the physical contact. You look at John for an answer as to why she’s suddenly Miss Personality, but he just shrugs and grins goofily, as always. Karkat grumbles to himself and sets down the glass he was cleaning, exiting the bar and prying her off of you. 

You nod your thanks and remind yourself to add some extra money to his tip before you leave. Vriska pouts for approximately eight seconds before she goes back to harassing Karkat and you roll your eyes, knowing that you’ll be useless in this situation. You like to think of yourself as the universal peacekeeper, but you know, or rather you hope, Vriska will stop if Karkat gets more angry than usual. 

You sit down at a table near the center of the building, at the back so that you have the best view possible, and pull out your travel-size sketch pad. While you normally consider it a bit rude to sketch in public, you’ve seen much worse things, and you feel creative. You idly begin sketching a figure, but once the anatomy is complete, you simply sort of sit there, not sure what to draw for an outfit. You look over to see a tall man sitting next to...The driver of the cab you took here? An eyebrow seems to go as high as possible, but you quickly look back to your sketch. You’re reminded of the taxi cab’s oddly nice shade of orange and shrug to yourself, sketching down an ankle-length skirt for a dress. You add a slit on each side that travels up to the waist for ease of movement, and you add sleeves that end at the elbows. As you draw, something seems oddly familiar about this outfit, but you can’t place it. Every time you look at it, you sort of see light in it, in a sense.

You don’t know where you were going with that train of thought. 

You shake your head and make some notes on the tiny sketch as to what colour goes where and close the pad, placing it back in your purse. You sit back and relax, closing your eyes, but open one when you hear someone take a seat across from you. Both eyes snap open when you realize that the person sitting there is none other than Rose Lalonde. You feel a blush creep up your face as you quickly try to regain your composure, and she merely chuckles. 

“I - Ah - I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be back here until at least the performance,” She smirks at you and leans her chin on a palm. 

“It’s quite alright, Miss Maryam. I merely wished to speak to such an avid fan of mine as you seem to be. From what Aradia tells me, you seem to be quite infatuated.” You splutter as you attempt to drink your water, which Karkat had thoughtfully brought earlier,

“I - You - What?” She chuckles again and resumes her apparently trademark smirk, 

“I must say, I do enjoy your designs, Miss Maryam. They’re quite...Refreshing, compared to what I see on a regular basis. I’m quite the fan of you, myself,” You blink more than a few times, your brain screeching to a stand-still. She’s a fan of you?

You try to articulate a reply, but find that your speech is coming out in broken pieces. You frown and try again, getting something close to, “Sssherioushhly?” Your eyes widen and you quickly cover your mouth, eyes widening even more when you realize that you can’t even feel half of your face. Rose is also frowning, an eyebrow raised. At least, you think she has an eyebrow raised; her face is becoming increasingly fuzzy, and your head has suddenly begun to pound. 

You blink for a few moments before everything goes dark as you collapse to the floor, twitching unconsciously. 

You dream of the steady beeping of a heart monitor.


	3. Rose: Observe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You watch over her.
> 
> You wish you could heal her, make her well again.
> 
> You know that won't happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, SO sorry this took so long D8
> 
> School is seriously being a buttface.

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you feel a strange sense of guilt. 

You are currently in a hospital room, watching over one Kanaya Maryam, who is currently unconscious and hooked up to countless machines. 

Soon after you sat down a night ago, the woman had collapsed at your feet. You originally thought this to be jest, but, when she didn’t get back up, you immediately called an ambulance, a heavy feeling in your gut. 

You don’t know what to do now.

You've admired this woman for a while now, with her refreshing fashion sense and, from what Aradia and Feferi tell you, down-to-earth, peacemaking personality. So, you collaborated with Aradia’s “friend,” Vriska, and managed to get her to the club that your brother runs. 

When you saw her in the audience, your hands were almost too shaky to pick up your violin. 

Now, however, in the silence of the stark white hospital room, there is no admiration or silent feelings; you are locked in a state of worry. The doctors told you what they found, and you dread telling her when she wakes up. 

This isn't the kind of date you had wanted, to say the least. 

They said they can’t operate on her without her consent, so you've been sitting here for around twenty-four hours, ever vigilant and patient. Once she wakes up, you will try to direct Aradia or Feferi to tell her exactly what’s happened, while you make your escape. Or, at least, that’s what you would do if you could. 

You feel guilty for all of this and you don’t know why. 

Your eyes wander back to the brain scans that the doctor, a hulking brute of a man that seemed more like a bodybuilder than a surgeon, left in the room. They immediately focus on a white patch pressing up against Kanaya’s brain.

You shudder as you remember exactly what it’s called...

Tumor...

You barely even know Kanaya Maryam, and already you’re worried sick. Of course, Aradia told you that such a reaction is perfectly normal. She didn’t seem particularly disturbed about this tragic turn of events, as though she had some premonition about all of it. Feferi, on the other hand, had immediately shed silent tears. She left with her fiance soon after, a strange scarfed man with a holier-than-thou attitude, tucked up against his side. 

It seemed like nobody wants to be here when she wakes up, and you idly wonder just what sort of friends Kanaya has made.

Karkat visits regularly, silent and stoic, which is a strange, but not entirely unwelcome, change from his regular demeanor. Even Vriska and John pay visits sometimes, the usually snarky and somewhat sadistic woman now with eyes full of remorse and resignation. John merely stays quiet, keeping an arm around her shoulder. You know exactly why he doesn’t say anything, though. 

You shake your head and resume scribbling in a tome-like writing pad. You often find that tragedy leads to the best of writing, and you’ve had enough tragedy for two lifetimes. A sigh escapes your lips and you write a few sentences idly, as the main character deals with the loss of a dear friend of theirs. 

Perhaps someday you’ll publish this book, but Complacency of the Learned has a long way to go before you could call it read-worthy. Your mind isn’t on your work anyway.

You direct your gaze back to Kanaya, watching as she twitches in her sleep. You wonder just what she’s dreaming about.

Rose: Be Kanaya

You are once again Kanaya Maryam, though you’re a bit busy at the moment.

You don’t know what happened after your little fiasco in front of Rose, but, you know that this place simply can’t be real.

For one thing, you’re not even human.

Your skin shines radiantly, a living light that guides your path as you travel down darkened hallways. This place seems to be constructed merely of scraps of metal that have been haphazardly bolted together. You are currently following a trail of what appears to be cerulean blood trails, though you can’t say for certain just what this blue liquid is. You know blood can’t be blue, right?

...Right?

Whatever this substance is, you feel somewhere deep down inside that whatever it leads to can’t be a good thing. Every step you take fills you with dread, and you keep your weapon in hand. Your weapon being...

...Lipstick? You frown at it, twirling the tube in your hand. You’re certainly not prepared for when it turns into a chainsaw almost half your size. You grunt as your arms adjust to this new weight, though it doesn't feel entirely foreign in your hands. You continue your trek through the darkened passage, smoothing out your dress with your free hand, somehow carrying the massive chainsaw easily with the other. You pause when your hand reaches a dip in your stomach, and freeze completely when your it ends up pushing the fabric through to touch the back of the dress. 

You have a hole the size of a softball, maybe bigger, through your abdomen. You frown as you realize that there isn't even any bone there. It’s just one round hole, no spine, no guts, no anything. You sigh as you remove your hand however, extremely convinced that this is, in fact, some sort of mad dream that you’ll wake up from soon enough. 

Your dreams have been strange for a long time. Sometimes they are filled with glorious light and a beautiful sky as you speak to strange white creatures who seem friendly enough. Other times, you’re with what appear to be your friends, though all of them seem to have acquired gray skin and horns, which you idly feel atop your own head. 

Lately, these dreams have been getting more and more realistic, and you don’t know why. You can never remember them when you’re awake, which troubles you to some degree.

You’re roused from your thoughts when you hear a honk in the distance. Your eyes glimmer with a strange, blazing anger as you ready your chainsaw. 

You don’t know why, but you suddenly feel like you need to kill something.

No...

...Someone.

You begin to run down the hallway, chainsaw revving and leaving a trail of smoke in your wake. The honking quickly grows louder and you swing the weapon in your hands wildly until it finally connects with something.

That something sprays red all over you. 

You freeze once again and immediately, somehow, convert your chainsaw back to lipstick. 

Red oozes down the sides, dripping onto the floor. 

A panic, deep and somehow calm, spreads throughout the gut you don’t seem to have as you step closer to the source of what you know is blood. 

A blonde girl, no older than 14 or so, lays on the ground, crumpled and bloody. Bits of bone and flesh seem to jut out from odd angles as she gasps for breath weakly. Your chainsaw has severed the girl in half.

You know who this is.

What have you done?

You kneel down, your red dress staining a shade darker from the pool of blood that seeps out between you. You feel a weak, trembling hand on your cheek as you look the girl over. She smiles at you gently, blood dripping out from her lips. 

She silently moves her mouth before shutting it, unable to say a word. Her smile turns sad as her breathing grows more and more labored. 

You recognize the dress as one from your own sketches and your eyes fill with horror. 

Her smile turns sad as the light begins to fade from her eyes. You hug her mangled form close to you, jade tears mixing with the perverse red liquid that seems to flow from everywhere now. 

You don’t care what you are, troll or human.

You have just killed Rose Lalonde.

You want to die. 

Kanaya: Be Rose again

You cannot be Rose at the moment, as she is preoccupied with watching over you in the real world of the hospital. 

She watches as tears leak from your closed, squinting eyes. 

She wonders why you’re crying.


End file.
